The Fires of Mount Doom
by AzureSkye23
Summary: The Bond Between Brothers universe, an AU where Saruman gains the Ring. Sauron's plan has succeeded in forcing Saruman to move to Barad-dûr, but now the hardest task awaits him and Olórin: destroying the Ring and seeing Middle-earth freed from Saruman's tyranny. Will the brothers manage it, or are they–and the rest of Middle-earth–doomed?


**Well, when I set myself to finishing this series, I planned to have it done by today. I just barely made it. :) Probably slightly less polished than usual: my dad's horribly sick and was in the E.R. this morning, so I'm a bit scatterbrained. So if you see any mistakes, please point them out so I can fix them. Last oneshot in this series will be up Wednesday!**

* * *

Aragorn exhaled softly, exchanging glances with the small Dúnedain escort around him. Minas Tirith loomed in the foreground, the re-built Rammas Echor around her.

"Well, here we are," he said to no one in particular. "Now to hope Denethor will be willing to listen to me," he muttered to himself. Quietly, he gave the order for his standard to be unfurled, and felt a momentary pang: it should have been Halbarad who held that flag. Now that task fell to his son. Schooling his expression, he raised a hand, and the group cantered the rest of the distance to the Rammas Echor. They pulled up at the Northern Gate, hearing the challenge of the guards there.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, sixteenth chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North, Heir of Valandil, Isildur, and Elendil," It felt odd to be openly proclaiming who he was, but there was no need for secrecy now. "I come with tidings for the Steward of Gondor pertaining to the new threat in the East."

The men who manned the gate were stunned, but quickly a rider was sent to the City, and it wasn't long until the Northern Dúnedain were being escorted to the City. They left their horses in the Sixth Circle, and continued on to the Citadel. There Aragorn received his first shock: it was not Denethor who stood there to receive them, but a younger Man, who looked to be his son, along with a woman with the golden hair of the Rohirrim.

"Greetings, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man said. "I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and this is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, Heir to the house of Eorl," he introduced them with a courteous nod of the head, which Aragorn returned.

"The messengers indicated that you had tidings of the fallen Wizard who has taken up residence in the Dark Lord's old lair?" Faramir asked politely.

"I do," Aragorn replied. "However, under an open sky is not the best place to discuss it." Faramir smiled.

"No, that it is not," he said. "Be welcome, and you and your men may refresh yourselves, and then we shall speak of it."

"Your hospitality is most welcome," Aragorn told him sincerely. They were quickly lead to well appointed rooms in the Citadel, it was only a half mark later Aragorn was sitting in conference with Faramir and Éowyn, speaking of what had occurred in Middle-earth.

Saruman had killed Théoden King, his son and heir Théodred, as well as nephew Éomer, leaving Éowyn the sole remnant of the house of Eorl. Boromir had been heading North to seek an answer to a riddling dream, but had never been heard from again, and Faramir suspected he too had been killed by Saruman. Denethor, upon learning of Saruman's defeat of Sauron, had committed suicide in despair, leaving his second son Steward.

But not everything was dark: for despite their losses, Faramir and Éowyn found themselves in love, and planned to wed, combining and preserving both their great houses. After Aragorn had congratulated them both, the talk turned to what had brought him to Minas Tirith, and the long tale of what had occurred in the North was told. Multiple times, both Faramir and Éowyn's expressions expressed shock and surprise, and the unforeseen twists of the story were told, most encompassed in the figure of a dark-haired Maia.

"It is quite the incredible tale you tell," Faramir said softly when Aragorn was finished. The older Man smiled.

"If I had not lived it, I would find it hard to believe myself," he said. "But Gondor has long stood against her foe; can she still stand now, though the foe has changed?"

"That she can," Faramir said resolutely. "What have you need of?"

"For now, a place to stage our operations, and to plan. Sauron does have the beginnings of a plan, but much of it will depend on getting the inside information he believes he can. If all goes well, the only thing we should be asking for in terms of men would be a few scouts."

"And if they go wrong, we will be facing an army led by one who commands the power of the One Ring," Éowyn pointed out. Aragorn nodded.

"There will be no escape should that come to pass," he said softly. "For the Elves, perhaps…but not for us."

"Then let us hope that Sauron's plan will work," Faramir said, in a tone of voice that made it clear he saw the irony in that statement.

"He is one of the best strategists in Arda," Aragorn pointed out. "And as it is his Ring, he has just as much stake in this as we do. I do not believe I would trust him if that were not the case."

The talk then turned into logistical needs for the arrival of the group that would be following in a few days, and Aragorn felt a surge of relief. Faramir would aid them, and there was hope they might just be able to succeed in this mad venture after all.

Three days later, a group of Elves and two Maiar clattered through the Great Gate of Minas Tirith, which was instantly closed behind them. Aragorn, Faramir, and Éowyn were on hand to greet them.

Mounted on proud, beautiful horses, the Elves were a stunning sight for those who had never before seen the fair folk. Placing faces with the names Aragorn had given him, Faramir knew without a doubt he was in the presence of legends.

But it was the two tallest of the group that caught the eye. Fair even beyond the measure of the Elves, they were striking. The tallest had white blond hair and deep purple eyes, and Faramir instinctively recognized him as Mithrandir, or Olórin he supposed he should call him. The old list of names the Wizard had once given him made more sense now: '_Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten_.' Part of Faramir was still in shock that the Wizard he had befriended was a Maia.

But was the other who drew Faramir's attention. He had a darker aura than the rest, accentuated by his unrelieved black clothing, and long black hair. But his eyes were brilliant gold, and they swept the group with a wary, watchful air. He reminded Faramir of a wild creature, deciding whether he was going to attack or bolt. But of course, the Maia did neither, and quickly the whole group was heading up towards the level of the Citadel. It did not escape Faramir's attention that Sauron had been placed in the middle of the group.

Faramir quickly realized that that was not simply a coincidence. Those who had travelled to Minas Tirith were extremely protective of the younger Maia, especially Olórin. His watchful care of Sauron reminded the young Steward of his own brother, now lost to him. He found himself hoping that this set of brothers would not be torn apart.

It was an odd realization, but one he became more set in the longer the Elves and Maiar stayed in Minas Tirith. Faramir had heard their story, but watching them interact, he could believe that Sauron had risked Saruman's wrath to rescue Olórin. But he could not spend much time observing them, between planning with Aragorn on how to restore Gondor and Arnor, and what to do about Rohan, he was kept busy.

Heading down a little used corridor in the Citadel, on his was to meet with yet another group of lords, Faramir came around a corner and stopped abruptly. On a small bench set against a wall between two pillars, were the two Maiar.

Olórin's attention was held by the book he had in his lap, the pages of which he absently turned with his left hand. His right was wrapped around Sauron, who was asleep on his shoulder. The younger Maia had his legs pulled up on the bench, taking up all the remaining room. A small, slightly painful smile tugged at Faramir's mouth, and he quietly turned and left, leaving the brothers to themselves.

It was not long after Faramir left that Sauron stirred. Olórin carefully marked his place in his book and set it aside, tightening his grip on his brother as Sauron returned to awareness.

"Awake?" Olórin asked gently. Sauron nodded, yawned, and stood to stretch before sitting back down.

"I think I have it figured out now," Sauron said as if he were simply continuing a conversation.

"Have what figured out?" Olórin asked.

"What to do with Saruman," Sauron replied.

"Ah," Olórin said, on the same page as his brother now.

"He's had enough time to re-staff Barad-dûr, and the scouts are fairly certain he's done so with my people. He's used the Nazgûl to block the Morgul pass, so the only way in is for you to take us. So it will be best if we keep it small: just you and me." Olórin frowned slightly at that, but said nothing, though he rose and began to pace.

"Once we're in, my people can get us close to Saruman. I'll let him 'accidentally' see me, and he'll chase me." Olórin turned to Sauron, shock and anger on his face. But Sauron simply continued.

"You'll come up behind him in some nondescript form, ambush him, and take him to the Sammath Naur. Once there, you can get rid of the Ring–I suggest simply taking his whole hand–and then you take him to Valinor. After that, you can return for me. Saruman should be so blinded by his hatred for me, that he shouldn't have time to use the Ring against you. And I should be fine, with this form and the shield Elrond and Galadriel created."

"You cannot ask me to accept you playing bait," Olórin said angrily, ignoring Sauron's ending platitudes. Sauron didn't blink.

"I cannot ask anyone else to do so," he said calmly. "This is, ultimately, my fault. I will not allow anyone else to take this risk." Olórin grabbed his wrists.

"He will hurt you," he said certainly.

"He will if he catches me," Sauron replied. "But that's true for anyone. I don't intend to get caught."

"A lot of things 'you didn't intend' still happened, Mairon," Olórin snarled.

"Olórin, there is no one else," Sauron said intently. "He can't know about you, and there is no one else he would chase, forgetting all else." Olórin still looked rebellious, but Sauron pressed on, not letting him speak.

"Please, Olórin," he said softly. "Let me redeem myself, in my eyes if in no one else's. Let me do this." Olórin sighed, fight leaving him.

"Alright, little brother," he whispered. "Just please, please don't do anything foolish."

"I'll try," Sauron smiled. "Let's go."

"Now?" Olórin asked in shock.

"No better time," Sauron replied. "If we tell anyone else, they'll argue with it, wanting to be involved. I'm ready to end this."

"I am as well," Olórin said firmly. "You are right, it is time to end this."

_One way or another_, Sauron finished silently.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?" Olórin hissed quietly, in the guise of an unremarkable Haradrim man.

"No," replied Sauron, who hadn't changed form, as he was incapable of doing so. "This always was the hardest part of the plan…" He trailed off as a Haradrim woman exited a door and caught sight of them, her eyes widening. Sauron's did as well, though for a different reason.

"Bayat!" he called softly. "Bayat!" Shocked surprise flitted across the woman's face, then she hurried over.

"My lord?" she asked, stunned. "What are you doing here? And who?" she looked in surprise at Olórin.

"My brother," Sauron told her. "Long story."

"My lord, if the Wizard finds you here…" Bayat began worriedly.

"He won't," Sauron assured her. "Or, well, he will, but it's part of the plan."

"What plan?" Bayat asked, amusement beginning to replace panic and shock on her face.

"The plan where my brother and I overthrow the arrogant fool who decided to set himself up as Middle-earth's next overlord," Sauron said with a grin. Then he sobered. "How are you, Bayat? The others? I did not expect you to be here."

"Other than those killed when Saruman first came, most are fine. Some of the newer servants, or those who believed they still had family members left to try to find them. The rest are still here, though none remain in the higher positions. The Wizard brought his own staff for that. But he did not have enough to run all of Barad-dûr. I have been demoted to scullery maid, and the woman who now runs things is a fool, but other than that…" Sauron smiled fondly at at the end of her speech.

"I doubt anyone else could run things as well as you did," he said, making the woman blush. "Bayat was…well, she was technically my head cook, but she was really my chatelaine in practice," Sauron explained to Olórin. "Bayat, do you think you could get us inside and up to Saruman's quarters undetected?"

"Getting in will not be a problem," the woman said confidently. "Though getting to Saruman might be. He allows no one who served you to approach him. I shall do my best. Follow me."

For Olórin, it was an eye opening experience as Bayat led them through Barad-dûr, hissing at various women, who quickly rushed to do her bidding. It was obvious she had once un-officially ruled here, and she took advantage of everything she still had at her disposal. With her help, and the help she recruited, they quickly climbed higher in the tower, finally coming to the levels where Sauron's people were not allowed.

Privately, Olórin thought Saruman had good reason to be cautious of those who had served his little brother, for all those he had met seemed fiercely loyal to their lord. Sauron had not over-exaggerated their willingness to help. He couldn't help but smile at this unexpected glimpse into his brother's domestic life. Suddenly, Bayat swore, jolting Olórin out of his thoughts.

"Guards coming," she hissed. "Quickly, hide in here. I shall attempt to sent them away."

She shooed them through a door, closing it quickly, before the rough voices of the guards hailed her.

"Hey, what are you doing here!" one coarsely demanded.

"I was ordered to…" Bayat sounded confused and uncertain, and Olórin had to applaud her acting skills.

"You're one of Sauron's little girls," the other voice spoke up. "You're not suppose to be this high. Are you lost, little girl?"

"No, I know I am not, but I was ordered to by one of your people; I assumed…"

"Assumptions are dangerous things, little girl," the second voice answered.

"I think she's lying," the first voice said. "That, or whoever sent her wanted her gone. Either way, the punishment's the same." There was a horrible noise of metal and woman's pained cry, and Olórin had to grab Sauron has he instinctively lunged for the door.

"We'll have to go get someone to clean up this mess now," the second voice grumbled, glee in his voice.

"Then go do so," the first voice said. "I will return to where we are suppose to be stationed.

"Yes sir," the second voice said sullenly. When they were gone, Olórin let go of Sauron, who rushed out into the hall towards the crumpled figure on the floor, and collapsed to his knees beside her.

"Bayat?" Sauron asked in a soft voice, his eyes wide with distress. "Bayat?" The woman opened her eyes and smiled softly.

"It is alright," she said with difficulty. "I do not fear to die…and I shall die for a good cause. It was more than they gave Ashir."

"Oh," Sauron said. Then comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Oh. Were you…I mean, did he…"

"He had not spoken to me," Bayat said. "But I loved him. And now I shall join him…"

"Yes, you will," Sauron said gently, running his hand down the side of her face. "Close your eyes…that's it. You'll see him soon…" It was not long before the woman's labored breathing ceased. Sauron squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and then stood.

"She always mothered me," he said softly, still staring at her still form. "And I let her, though I never knew why…Ashir was the head of my personal guard…I never realized she loved him…They deserved more than this…they all did…" Sauron turned to look down the corridor, his eyes and face hardening. "Enough of this," he growled, and stalked off, ignoring Olórin's frantic cautionings.

After a few moments indecision, Olórin decided that the original plan was completely shot, and he gave in to his urgent feeling that he should follow his brother. He was halfway down to the next level when he realized just how right he had been.

"Curumo!" Sauron's voice rang out clearly. "Come out, Curumo! I'm done playing games."

It was as if he had stirred an anthill. Instantly there was running, and shouting, and as he had apparently desired, Saruman himself appeared. Olórin, watching from a distance, wondering just what his little brother was up to, frowned at his appearance. It was not the form he had taken in Valinor, but rather the form he had taken to come to these shores, merely younger.

"Ah, there you are," Sauron said archly. "I would hate for you to miss what I have planned for you."

"I broke you!" Saruman yelled, eyes bulging out. Sauron smirked.

"You tried," he said arrogantly, enjoying Saruman's incredulous disbelief, hoping he wouldn't have to pay for this later, but determined to end this before anyone else was hurt. "But it is rather difficult to break someone who is already broken." Saruman was slowly turning purple.

"You, you," he spluttered.

"Yes, me," Sauron replied. "Did you really think I would quit now? I already rescued Olórin from your clutches, removed the Three from your dominion forever, and drove you from Orthanc. So far, I think I'm doing a fairly good job." He smiled brightly at Saruman, who finally snapped. He lunged at Sauron, forgetting that he could simply use the Ring, rage blinding him to anything but the thought to hurt the insolent Maia before him.

Sauron gathered all the anger, pain, and love that was raging inside him, and thought himself away. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the Sammath Naur. Saruman would follow him, as would Olórin, and then they would all be right where they needed to be…

Sauron felt his breath whoosh out of him as he was suddenly slammed against the wall, his hands bound to it down at his sides by invisible shackles. The shield that had been so carefully constructed by Elrond and Galadriel shattered, and he moaned as he felt his Ring again being used to bring him under Saruman's control.

Saruman stepped forward from the shadows, and Sauron fought back a shudder at the gleam in his eyes: a gleam he had seen in Gothmog and Morgoth's eyes enough to know what it meant all too well.

"'It's rather difficult to break someone who is already broken,'" Saruman quoted softly, his voice not much more than a whisper. His uncontrollable rage was gone, leaving a cold, determined fury behind. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on Sauron's, who knew without a doubt he was in trouble.

"You know what?" Saruman continued, stepping even closer to his helpless prisoner, who decided it was extremely uncomfortable that Saruman was taller than he was.

"I think I will take that as a challenge," he whispered straight into Sauron's ear, now pinning him against the wall with his own body. He tangled the fingers of his right hand in Sauron's thick black hair, pulling his head back as he kissed him roughly.

Sauron tried to escape, but the Ring still held him firmly, as did Saruman himself. His fruitless struggles seemed to amuse Saruman, and pushing Sauron further back into the wall, he forced the younger Maia's mouth open and began tracing his free hand over the contours of Sauron's chest and stomach. Saruman gently teased up the bottom of the tunic Sauron was wearing, running his thumb over the exposed skin just above the top of his breeches.

Sauron had only been this terrified once before, the night Morgoth had blamed him for Beren and Lúthien's success, when the fallen Vala had torn him apart thought by thought.

The similarities between the two rose up to mock him. Again, he was held by a power stronger than his own, with no hope of escaping on his own. Both were free to do as they liked with him, and both were intent on seeing him abused, humiliated, and degraded. He was helpless…

And then Saruman was gone, stumbling backwards. Sauron collapsed, sliding down the wall to huddle at the base of it. Olórin took two steps forward, in his own form again, placing himself between Saruman and Sauron, angrier than either had ever seen him.

"Don't. You. _Dare._" he snarled at Saruman.

They began to fight, their unfettered power shaking all of Mount Doom. Sauron remained slumped against the wall, still trying to gather his equilibrium. Watching, it was almost like he saw it before it happened, or perhaps since the Ring was part of him, he understood its intent. It suddenly expanded rapidly, slipping from Saruman's finger. Sauron instantly understood: Olórin was stronger, and the Ring wanted him instead.

But Olórin paid it no mind, too intent on protecting his brother, the love he held protecting him from its insidious whispers. With a quick lunge, he forced Saruman out of the Sammath Naur, a move that rocked the entire mountain. Sauron was thrown away from the wall, landing on his stomach. He shook his head to clear it and glanced up, his gaze instantly caught by the Ring lying just before him.

It whispered to him, softly, seductively, poisoning his thoughts with as much skill as Morgoth ever had. He reached for it, despite himself, knowing it had betrayed him; yet he was still under its thrall.

Then Bayat's face rose to his mind, still in death as it had never been in life. She had died for him, and Námo and Eru alone knew how many others had done the same. How could he betray them? How could he betray Elrond, Galadriel, and the others, who had been willing to look beyond what he had done in the past and help him?

And then there was Olórin. Olórin, who would do anything he could for his little brother. How could Sauron hurt him again? The Valar may throw him into the Void on his arrival in Valinor, but he was going to do anything within his power to keep Olórin for mourning him once more.

The Ring, sensing his resistance, threw Saruman's words back at him: _there is part of you that _wants_ to be a slave. You are willing to be controlled by anyone strong enough to force you to their will. You _know_ that; you have _always_ known that._

Sauron drew himself up on his forearms, staring intently at the small golden thing, smooth and fair, and altogether precious: his creation, his love, his betrayer, his power, his enemy, his soul.

"Slave I may be," he told it. "But yours no longer."

Then, mind and soul shattered–perhaps beyond repair–but finding in him one last, desperate bit of resistance that had kept him from lying down in defeat so many times before, he flicked the Ring forwards, and sent it flying into the abyss. He felt it hit the Fire; felt its last, impotent wave of hatred sweep over him. He laughed, one incredulous crow of triumph, before he began to scream as it was finally destroyed, and Orodruin began to pull itself apart in torment.


End file.
